In processing loss, cherish the memories

I took a bike ride late Wednesday afternoon to clear my head before working on this, and a feature project for today’s sports section.

It was a beautiful day. On my way toward the industrial park, where I knew I could ride in some solitude, I passed by the Bill Sears Memorial Complex.

On one of the diamonds, a young boys team was practicing. On the two main fields, two youth girls games were going on, with parents seated on the bleachers just like they were at our kids’ ballgames 25 years ago.

That was where I first began spending a lot of time with Tyrell Miller. Paul Pals and I coached a travel baseball team that stayed very busy on summer weekends. The boys were from the Creston class of 2007, so now they are in their early 30s.

Tyrell Miller and my son Keith were the two regular catchers on our team. We had everyone play multiple positions, so they would have good experience for the demands of future coaches as they grew older. Coach Pals spent a lot of time working specifically with Tyrell and Keith, as a former catcher himself.

Keith and Tyrell became best friends. They spent so much time together, it was almost like having a third son. They moved into Mayflower dorm together for their first year at the University of Iowa. I remember that move-in weekend like it was yesterday. I was thrilled those guys were beginning their higher education where I had spent so much time a generation earlier.

Now, sadly, Keith and I share an experience that I would never wish upon a loved one. I lost a four-year college roommate just three years after graduating, when Bob Long of Humboldt died in a Peace Corps fire in Liberia. When I received the news, Deb still remembers how I collapsed into our couch, face first, and lost control of my emotions.

The funeral in Humboldt was agony. We were so young. It’s not supposed to happen that way. Our parents were still alive! That’s not the presumed order of life’s cycle.

In this case, our son not only lost a college roommate on Tuesday afternoon when Tyrell died in a one-vehicle accident on Interstate 35, he lost his best friend from childhood. We all lost a great friend. There was a perpetual smile on Tyrell’s face, and in the process he put a smile on yours.

As I passed by the Bill Sears ballfields, I reminisced about some of those hot afternoons, working with Tyrell on first-and-third defensive options, or bunt defense responsibilities. He was always attentive and showed effort. You never had to get on Tyrell about working hard. He carried that into his adult life. We were all proud of what he had accomplished for himself and his family.

Tyrell was a great father to his young daughter, Preslee. He adored her. The supreme tragedy of this is that he and Shannon were beginning a great life partnership, including the anticipation of their son’s birth in September. Tyrell would have made a great little league coach in his own right, because of his kind, patient demeanor.

Tyrell and Keith were in Chicago for a Bulls game as college students and stayed with my nephew, Eric Lenning, and his family. When he heard the news about Tyrell, this is what Eric wrote on my Facebook post:

“We still remember Tyrell from his visit in 2009 with Keith to our house in Plainfield. Didn’t know him beyond that, but his friendliness and kindness to our young boys at the time made a positive impression that has lasted all these years.”

Likewise, when my post included a photo of Mrs. Riley’s fourth grade class that included Tyrell, one of the classmates replied with a comment.

“Great group of friends in this class,” Heath Pelzer wrote. “This was when Tyrell reached out and brought me into the fold. We became great friends because of his kindness to someone outside of the group, and spent a lot of time together growing up. He will be sorely missed.”

That’s how so many of us feel. Creston lost a kind, generous young man this week. Our thoughts are with his parents, Dan and Denise, sister Amanda Buck, daughter Preslee and partner Shannon Eads.

Getting to know folks like that always made us feel good about our decision to move back to Creston in 1990. It’s big enough for us, but also small enough that in tough times, you never feel alone.

•••

Contact the writer:

Email: malachy.lp@gmail.com

Twitter: @larrypeterson